


Until you set your old heart free

by asterismal (asterisms)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Minor Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Minor Hermione Granger/Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, POV Harry Potter, POV Sirius Black, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22023679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterisms/pseuds/asterismal
Summary: Harry turns sharply on his heels, swinging Teddy into the air once more, and as Teddy collapses into a giggly mess at his back, Harry looks at him, and hesmilesand… Oh.Oh,fuck.He’s in so much trouble.In which Sirius Black survives the war, adopts Teddy Lupin, and refuses to fall in love with Harry Potter.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Teddy Lupin, Sirius Black/Harry Potter, Teddy Lupin & Harry Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 1000
Collections: Flashing into the New Year





	Until you set your old heart free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [RedHorse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse) in the [flashing_into_the_new_year](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/flashing_into_the_new_year) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sirius fell in love with Harry accidentally. He blames Teddy.

When Harry leaves the headmaster’s office, applause still ringing in the air, Ron and Hermione follow. As they step out into the hall, the silence is almost overwhelming. To their left, an entire section of wall has been blown apart, and moonlight filters through the empty space, filled with dust motes that glow like embers in the pale light.

Harry breathes, and they swirl into motion. Beside him, Ron and Hermione hover. “What now?” Ron asks.

“You should go to your family,” Harry says. 

When he closes his eyes, he sees Fred laid out on the floor, just one more body in a line that stretches across the Great Hall. 

He opens his eyes.

Ron looks stricken. “They're not just mine. You—”

“I know, Ron,” Harry says. He turns, and Ron’s arms open to him as if without thought. He presses his face to Ron’s shoulder, breathes in and smells smoke. “That isn’t what I meant; I promise.”

“Then why…” 

When he looks to Hermione, she’s already holding the map for him to take. He smiles, and it feels like relief. “I have someone to find.”

“Do you want us to come with?” Ron asks, catching on. His arms tighten around Harry.

Harry shakes his head, stepping back. “No, thank you. I think…” He trails off, looks down at the map and traces one finger over the letters that bleed into shape under his touch. “I think it’s best if I go alone.” 

Voice soft, Hermione asks, “Come find us later?”

Harry swallows down the sudden lump in his throat; he nods. Then he watches Ron and Hermione walk away, leaning into each other as they go, and some of the emptiness in his chest is filled, just a little. 

He finds Sirius in a corridor on the third floor. 

He’s sat before a gaping hole in the wall, his legs dangling over the edge. For a moment, Harry only stares, and something like relief rocks through him. He knew that Sirius made it through the battle. He would have joined him in the forest, otherwise, but to see him sitting here… It calms something in him anyway. 

He kicks at a stray piece of stone, and it skitters across the half-crumbled floor. Sirius doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything but continue to stare out over the grounds, his unbound hair covering his face and swaying in clumps dried together with blood and dirt. 

Harry sits beside him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, just sitting, before Sirius finally says, voice hoarse, “You should be celebrating.”

Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye. Sirius is pale, blood crusted over one cheek and a mottled bruise around his throat, just above the torn collar of his robe. “So should you.”

Sirius snorts. It’s an ugly sound, but it puts a fire in his eyes. 

Then it fades again. “Remus is dead,” he says. 

Harry nods, though he knows Sirius isn’t looking. “He is.”

“I should be, too,” Sirius says, voice flat. 

“Don’t say that.” 

But Sirius doesn’t hear him. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care to listen. “I should be _with them.”_

And Harry wants to shout, suddenly, to take Sirius by the shoulders and shake him. He thinks he’s angry and is almost surprised. He thought he was too tired to be angry. 

His breaths coming heavier now, he says, “Shut up.”

“Why should I?” Sirius demands, his eyes wild. He turns Harry’s way, finally, but Harry knows Sirius isn’t seeing him. Not really. “Why shouldn’t I be dead, when everyone I’ve ever—” His words break into a pained moan, and he leans forward, pulls at his hair with a white-knuckled grip. Harry tenses, ready to grab him, to pull him back over the edge if he needs to. “I’m the last of them, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says. In his mind’s eye, he sees a ring of ghostly figures in the dark. “I _know,_ Sirius, but I—” He bites at his lip, holds his breath and feels dizzy with grief. He wants them back. 

Sirius doesn’t look at him; he doesn’t even move, and Harry does his best to breathe through the trembling weight in his chest. He wants them back, but he can’t have them. 

What he has is _this._

He tells himself not to be selfish. He tells himself this isn’t about him. “Don’t leave me,” he says anyway. 

Sirius only laughs, half-mad, and it cuts into him as easily as any knife. 

Harry doesn’t want to stay here, he realizes. He doesn’t want to be here—in the dark, in the cold; he doesn’t think he can bear it. But he does. He stays, until Sirius’ laughter turns first to sobs, then silence, until the pale light of dawn begins to bloom over the horizon. 

Later, he’ll tell Sirius of his walk through the forest—of his parents, of Remus, and what they said. But not yet.

For now, he only stays; he takes Sirius’ hand in his, and Sirius lets him. 

It’s been two weeks since the Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry is holding his godson for the first time.

He holds little Teddy Lupin in his arms, and it feels as if his heart is too big for his chest, suddenly. As if his whole world has shifted on its axis, and he’s only just noticed, and he doesn’t mind. He traces one finger over Teddy’s cheek, careful and a little bit in awe, as if he’s made of glass. 

He wonders if his own parents felt this way, as if they’d been cracked open and filled with light, and he thinks they must have. It doesn’t hurt like he thinks it should. 

Teddy’s eyes blink open, then. His little mouth opens in a yawn, and Harry gasps, smiling. 

“Hi, Teddy,” he whispers, and Teddy coos, a little gurgle that almost sends him to his knees. “I’m your godfather, Harry.”

Teddy turns his head. He’s so _small,_ Harry thinks as he traces his finger down Teddy’s arm, tapping at his palm until Teddy’s fist curls around his thumb.

Upstairs, he hears the heavy tread of Sirius’ footsteps as he paces the room, no doubt working himself up to a proper argument with Andromeda. Three days ago, she sent Harry a letter, inviting him to join her and Sirius to discuss Teddy’s future. While Harry was receptive to her plan, agreeing that the injuries she suffered in the battle would make raising a child full-time difficult, Sirius had refused. Is still refusing, Harry corrects himself when he hears Sirius’ voice through the ceiling. He can’t make out what Sirius is saying, or how Andromeda replies, but the tone is clear enough.

“Don’t worry, Teddy,” he says. He lifts Teddy higher, presses a kiss to his forehead. “Sirius will take care of you.” 

He hears a crash upstairs, then the sound of Andromeda shouting.

In his arms, Teddy begins to fuss, kicking at Harry’s arm as his face scrunches up. 

“Oh, baby, it’s okay” Harry says, keeping his voice calm, holding his godson tighter to his chest as he begins to rock gently back and forth. Teddy stops kicking, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I know they’re loud, but you’re alright. I’m right here.”

He shifts to support Teddy with one arm, then grabs for his wand. 

With a whispered spell, the sound from the rest of the house is muffled. 

“Is that better?” he asks as he tucks his wand away. Teddy yawns again. Harry strokes the soft skin between his eyes and down the bridge of his tiny nose, smiles as Teddy’s eyes fall shut and stay that way. “Yeah, I think so too.”

Later that evening, after Teddy has been put to bed by Andromeda (although she tells him with a long-suffering sigh that he won’t stay that way for long), Harry decides it’s time to corner Sirius. 

He finds his godfather in the kitchen, brooding over a mug of brandy.

“You gonna drink all of that?” Harry asks. 

Sirius grunts, shoves the mug across the counter toward him. Harry, who has learned to be careful with alcohol since Fred and George gave him something that made him cough up literal fire for over an hour in fifth year, takes a tentative sip. 

It’s not the worst thing he’s tasted, and the mug isn’t as full as he’d feared. 

He slides it back.

He mirrors Sirius’ pose, rests his elbows on the counter, folds his hands together. “Talk to me,” he says.

“Andy wants me to take him,” Sirius says after a long enough pause that Harry was certain he was being ignored.

He snorts. “I heard.”

Sirius glares half-heartedly. “I told her I can’t, but she refuses to listen to reason.”

“Why can’t you?”

“You must be joking,” Sirius says. Harry tilts his head in question. “Harry, she wants me to _raise_ him.”

“Yeah,” Harry says dryly, “I know. I was there when she told you.”

“I can’t take care of a baby,” Sirius says, throwing his hands in the air. “Hell, you were already mostly grown up when I got you, and look at how well I did there!”

“Mostly grown up?” Harry repeats, skeptical. He waves off Sirius’ attempt to explain. He isn’t interested in talking about himself as a child. Not with Sirius, at least. “For the record, I think I turned out great.”

“You did,” Sirius says, eyes soft. Then he takes a hurried gulp of his brandy, and Harry watches the way his throat moves when he swallows. 

“I’m going to say something,” Harry tells him, “and it might be mean.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure I can take it.”

Harry isn’t so certain, but he thinks it needs to be said.

“You’re not my dad.” Sirius flinches back, almost dropping his mug and spilling his drink. Harry watches him attempt to recover, to hide his reaction, with a solemn gaze. “You didn’t raise me. You aren’t my parent, and I didn’t want you to be. I still don’t.”

Sirius looks hurt. As much as Harry hates to cause him pain, he’s glad he said it.

“Then what am I?” Sirius demands.

“You— I don’t know. You’re my...” He knows what he wants to say, but if he puts _that_ particular desire into words, Sirius would run for the hills. He shrugs and says, “You’re _Sirius.”_

“And that’s enough for you, is it?” Sirius asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.

Harry grins. “It is.”

“Huh.”

“I bet it’d be enough for Teddy, too,” Harry says. 

Sirius groans. _“You’re_ his godfather,” he says.

Harry scoffs. “I’m seventeen, and I spent the past year on the run from a fascist government, living in a tent, and eating nothing but wild mushrooms. Andy doesn’t trust me with him.” He grins when Sirius looks at him with wide eyes. “To be fair, I wouldn’t trust myself with a baby either.”

“But you’re great with him; I saw.”

“That isn’t the same as being able to raise him,” Harry says, quite responsibly, he thinks. “And anyway, so are you.”

“You really think I could do it?”

“I really do.”

For a long moment, Sirius only looks at him, considering. “Remus’ son deserves a father,” he says, finally. 

“He does,” Harry agrees.

“There’s no one else.”

“Nope.”

“Well, then,” Sirius says, and he huffs. His smile is mostly sad, but at least it’s there. He raises his mug. “To Teddy Lupin, the best of luck. He’s going to need it.”

∞

Just under two months later, Sirius and Teddy settle into a cottage in the countryside, only a short walk from a nearby Muggle village. In those two months, he’d watched from the sidelines as Harry fought tirelessly, not only to get Sirius officially pardoned, but also to force the Ministry to pay compensation for his years in Azkaban. 

It was those reluctantly awarded funds that paid for the cottage, as Sirius was far from eager to dip into the Black vaults just yet. 

Surprising no one but Sirius, apparently, Harry follows them. 

“You don’t have to stay,” Sirius tells him one morning as he watches Harry feed Teddy his bottle, something uncomfortably like guilt gnawing at him. 

Harry looks up at him, one thick eyebrow raised, and Sirius tells himself the fondness he sees there in his expression is nothing strange. In the morning sun, Harry is lit up in gold, and his green eyes shine. He looks right, Sirius thinks. Like he belongs here in his kitchen, holding Teddy to his chest. He does his best to push those thoughts away.

Seventeen, Sirius reminds himself. 

Almost eighteen, another voice whispers, and he smothers it. As if eighteen is any better. 

Better for what? 

He shakes his head, refusing to think of it.

“I want to stay,” he hears Harry say. 

He purses his lips, accepts Teddy into his own arms to burp him, nodding his thanks when Harry conjures a rag in place over his shoulder. “You should be in London, Harry,” Sirius tells him. “You should be going out with your friends, meeting people, not stuck in the countryside with an old man and his kid.”

“You’re not old,” Harry says quickly, and Sirius feels a flood of heat that starts in his cheeks. It’s a startled sort of pleasure. 

Then the guilt settles in, stronger than before. 

It doesn’t help, Sirius thinks, that he truly has needed Harry around. It’s easier, now that the war is over and he isn’t cooped up in his childhood home, but he’s nowhere near the pinnacle of mental health, and everyone knows it. There are days (too many of them) where he can’t get out of bed, where he lies in the dark with the sound of Teddy crying ringing in his ears and tells himself he should get up, hates himself for not, only for the crying to stop as Harry takes care of the boy himself. 

Even worse are the days Sirius fears he might snap, might actually kill someone if they don’t leave him alone, if they don’t leave his house. On _those_ days, Harry steps in. He guides Sirius to his room, places a napping Teddy in his arms, and goes to attend to their guests, only coming back when they’ve left and Sirius feels as if he can breathe again.

He shouldn’t have to do this; he does it anyway. 

“Still,” Sirius says, perhaps not as firm as he should be. “You know I’m right.”

Harry juts his chin in the air, crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you want me to go?” he asks.

Sirius wishes he wouldn’t. “This isn’t about what I want—”

“What _I_ want is to be here,” Harry says, glaring, “So unless you’re kicking me out, you’re stuck with me.”

That said, he turns on his heel, as if he’s about to storm away, but he doesn’t. Instead, he comes closer, until Sirius feels the absurd urge to back away, and presses a kiss to Teddy’s cheek. 

_Then_ he storms out, likely to the garden, perhaps to the hills beyond their small plot of land.

Annoyance wars with fondness as Sirius watches him go. But, really, who is he kidding? Fondness always wins out.

∞

In spite of what he tells Sirius, it only takes half a year for Harry to change his mind. 

As far as he can tell, Sirius isn’t too upset by his decision. In fact, he all but chases Harry out the door, telling him it’s about time before closing it with a resounding click. Harry tries not to feel hurt. He mostly succeeds. 

Later, well on his way to drunk as he sprawls across Ron and Hermione’s bed in the flat they share, he confesses. “I love Sirius.”

“Of course you do,” Ron says.

Harry shakes his head, because they don’t get it. “No,” he says. “I mean I _love_ him.”

“Oh.” Ron doesn’t sound surprised, not really.

Mostly, he sounds as if he doesn’t understand why Harry might feel this way at all.

“It’s not so strange,” Hermione says, clear-spoken in spite of the third glass of wine she’s just finished. “In fact, crushes on authority figures are quite normal for adolescents.”

“Are they really?” Ron asks, grinning again. “What authority figures were _you_ crushing on, Hermione?”

Hermione sputters, and Harry laughs, rolling onto his stomach to press his face to Ron’s shoulder. Once Ron has finished teasing Hermione, an endeavor that ended with Hermione laying across Harry’s back as she attempted to cover Ron’s mouth with flailing hands, the mood settles.

“What are you going to do about Sirius?” Ron asks, his hand rubbing small circles between Harry’s shoulders, at the base of his neck. 

Harry closes his eyes, presses his palm to Ron’s hip beneath his shirt. “Get over him, I suppose.”

“Really?” Hermione asks, clearly having expected a much less practical answer.

“Well, he has Teddy to focus on, doesn’t he? He’s got no time for romance.” He sighs, decides he deserves to feel sorry for himself. Just this once. “And anyway, he doesn’t see me that way.”

“Is that why you’re moving out?” Hermione asks.

“I guess,” Harry says, frowning. “But also, if I’m gonna get over him, I need to meet someone else, and I don’t want to bring people around, to have them meet Teddy, if it isn’t serious. So if I want to go out and meet someone—”

“Which you do,” Ron says, snickering.

“—Then I’ve got to get a place of my own.”

“That’s very mature of you, Harry,” Hermione says, and she sounds impressed. She begins to stroke Harry’s hair. Beneath him, Ron shifts, and Harry feels the flex of Ron’s muscles against his hand. He swallows heavily. “You could stay here,” Hermione offers, voice soft. 

He wants to, he really does, but— “Are you sure?” Harry asks. It’s a small flat, with only one bedroom, and he doesn’t want to crowd them.

He feels Ron’s hand join Hermione’s in his hair before it slides down across his face, cupping his cheek. He turns his head to see Ron is watching him, intent. Ron’s thumb presses against his bottom lip. 

“Stay, Harry,” he says, and Harry does. But not for long.

When he isn’t looking for a flat of his own, he’s helping to put Hogwarts back in order and organize trials for the Death Eater they’ve managed to round up since the battle. 

It’s a long, slow process, with much of the Ministry dragging its heels, people at all levels refusing to acknowledge their own part in the war, but they get it done. Somewhere in the middle, he finds his own place and finally joins the Aurors after months of pointed questions from Robards and Kingsley. 

He spends a summer with Ginny Weasley, and it’s the lightest he’s felt in years.

Later, he finds himself in Draco Malfoy’s bed, stumbling into a disastrous affair that lasts a little over a month. As much as Ron likes to tease him for it after, he finds he can’t regret it. It was a mess from the beginning, he knows, but it was exhilarating. 

It was _fun_. 

And through it all, he visits Teddy (and Sirius, he thinks with a blush he can’t quite will away). 

He showers his godson with affection and attention, tells him all the bedtime stories he asks for, and every time he steps foot in that cottage, it gets a little harder to leave again.

But he does. Every time.

And then he leaves for real.

“You want me to—”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Robards tells him. He leans forward across his desk. “But this is a rare opportunity, and we must take advantage of it.”

“But why me?” Harry asks faintly.

Robards snorts. “You’re one of the best we have, Potter. Why _not_ you?”

And so it’s official. In three weeks, Harry will leave for the Americas (the exact coordinates having not yet been revealed to them) to study with the world’s leading scholar in Defense, and he won’t return for three years. 

When he tells Ron and Hermione, they pull him into a hug so tight he gasps for breath. Then Ron lifts them off the floor, stumbling backwards to sprawl them out across the couch, and Harry feels Hermione laugh as he holds them just as tight. 

When he tells Teddy, his godson doesn’t understand. And then he does, and he cries. 

When he tells Sirius… Well. 

He supposes he should be glad Sirius is happy for him, but there’s a part of him (a small part, but a part nonetheless) that was hoping Sirius might ask him to stay.

∞

∞

Sirius knows Teddy is awake by the pounding of his feet as he races down the stairs. For such a small human, he’s remarkably loud. _Especially_ , Sirius thinks with a snort, when he’s breaking the rules. He turns the burner off and casts a stasis charm as he waits for Teddy to find him in the kitchen.

“What did I say about running down the stairs?” Sirius asks when Teddy appears in the doorway, bouncing on his toes.

Teddy grins, poking his tongue through the gap where his first tooth fell out just three days ago. “Not to,” he says happily.

“And what were you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Teddy says. When Sirius only stares, Teddy giggles. “I was hopping.”

“Hopping?” Sirius asks, voice flat, curious to see where Teddy might go with this one.

“Yep.” Teddy jumps forward. When Sirius only raises an eyebrow, he keeps going, until he’s hopping in circles around him. “Like this.”

Sirius purses his lips, and he does a remarkable job of not laughing as he grabs Teddy mid-leap, pulling him up to rest on his hip. Teddy wiggles in his arms as he kicks his legs happily, knocking his heels against Sirius’ thighs. 

“You could have gotten hurt,” Sirius tells him. 

Teddy pouts. “I didn’t.”

“Not this time,” Sirius says, “but rules exist for a reason, Teddy-bear.”

“But I wasn’t running.”

Sirius isn’t at all fooled by the lie, but he lets it slide. “And if you’d fallen down the stairs, it would still hurt, wouldn’t it? Even if you weren’t running?”

Teddy takes a moment to think about it, and Sirius lets him, waiting patiently. “It would still hurt,” he admits, reluctant. 

Sirius smiles, presses a kiss to Teddy’s hair and laughs when the mop of curls turns from his usual blue to a bright yellow. “That’s right. And then you’d break all your bones, and I’d have to carry you _everywhere,_ wouldn’t I? _”_

Teddy giggles, nodding as he presses his face to Sirius’ shoulder. “Yes,” he says, “And I’d eat all the snacks in the house, and I’d be _super_ heavy.”

“All the snacks?” Sirius asks with exaggerated surprise. 

“All of them,” Teddy says with a decisive nod, though the gravity of his statement is somewhat ruined by the giggles that still slip through. 

“But where would they fit?” Sirius asks as he pokes at Teddy’s stomach.

Teddy squirms in his arms until Sirius lets him down. He places his hands on his hips, sets his face in his most serious expression, and Sirius thinks once more of the time he almost lost this before it even began, of the time he was so set on self-destruction, self-doubt, that he almost missed out on having Teddy in his life like this. 

Then, Teddy stands on his toes to peer at the stove over the edge of the counter, and the moment passes. Sirius would offer to lift him up again, but he’s certain Teddy would only insist he’s tall enough to see without help.

“Why’re you making so much food?” he asks. 

“Noticed that, did you?” Sirius says as he turns the burner back on and lifts the stasis. “We’re having a guest this morning.”

“A guest?” Teddy asks. He taps rather politely at Sirius’ thigh, having learned by now that if he pulls on his clothes, he won’t get an answer. “Who is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” Sirius says, and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice as warmth blooms in his chest. 

“But I wanna know,” Teddy whines, hugging Sirius’ leg and pressing his forehead into his thigh.

Sirius laughs, ruffling Teddy’s curls with one hand. “And you will,” he says, smiling down at his ridiculous child. “As soon as he gets here.”

He feels the wards chime and grins. 

Perfect timing. 

Before he can say anything more, they hear a knock at the door, and Teddy races for the front of the house. Normally, this is the moment Sirius runs after him, stopping him before he can reach the door and warning him (again) not to open it on his own. Today, however, he knows exactly who’s here, and he isn’t worried.

By the sound of it, Teddy uses his socks to slide at least part of the way across the wood floor, as Sirius hears the familiar thump of Teddy running into the wall. 

With a snort, he turns the burner down low and follows his child out of the kitchen, turning the corner just in time to see Teddy pick himself up off the floor.

Ruffling Teddy’s hair as he passes, he reaches for the door. Behind him, he can feel Teddy pressed to his legs, practically vibrating with excitement. He pulls the door open, and before he can even say hello, Teddy abandons all pretense of shyness. 

“HARRY!” he shouts, rocketing forward. 

In the doorway, Harry puts those Auror reflexes he’s spent the last three years honing to good use, crouching down just in time to sweep Teddy up into his arms rather than be knocked to the floor by the boy’s enthusiastic hug. 

Before Harry can even get a word in, Teddy is off, rambling and disjointed as he tells Harry all about how Sirius reads his letters to him before bed, about his newest friends, about the birthday party he’s having in two months. Half of what comes out of Teddy’s mouth is utter nonsense, but Harry does remarkably well at keeping up, asking just enough questions to keep him on track as he carries Teddy back inside the house, shifting him on his hip and smiling at Sirius as he holds the door open for them.

These years have been good to him. 

He’s taller, for one, though he’ll likely never be as tall as James was. His shoulders have broadened, and the wiry frame of a war-torn child has been filled out, leaving a healthy looking young man in its place. He looks strong, Sirius thinks, as he should.

It pains him, in a way, that he missed the process, but he can’t find any faults with the result.

“Sirius?” Harry says. 

“Yes?” he asks, and he tries very hard not to notice how deep Harry’s voice has gotten, how smooth.

Harry is smiling, and Sirius is caught by the way his eyes shine with laughter, by the deep glow of his skin and the shape of his smile. 

His hair is longer, Sirius notes, though it remains as untamed as ever.

“You can close the door now.”

It hits him, then, that while Harry looks incredible, young and fit, his own hair is tied up in a scrunchie because he hasn’t washed it in three days, and he’s wearing a garish apron with dinosaurs on it that Andy gave him as a joke last year. He thinks his shirt might have a hole in it from the time Teddy managed to grow fangs. It shouldn’t matter that he looks a mess, it really shouldn’t—but for some reason, it does.

Then what Harry said finally registers, and he coughs, looking away.

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Right.” 

He lets the door fall shut, and then Harry is grinning, so bright it must be blinding, striding forward to pull him into a hug, one hand gripping him by the back of his neck as Harry presses impossibly close. With a sigh, relieved to have him home and safe again, Sirius wraps his own arms around Harry’s shoulders, presses his nose to Harry’s hair and breathes in the bright, cold scent of his magic. 

He’s missed this.

He really has. Only...

“Wait,” Sirius says, lifting his head to peer into the too quiet house over Harry’s head, “Where’s Teddy?”

Harry laughs again and says, “He went to grab his letters. Apparently, he has questions.” 

Sirius groans, leaning forward and forcing Harry to all but hold him up, grinning when Harry mock-protests at the sudden weight. “Of course he does.”

Later, once breakfast has been eaten and then cleaned away, Harry and Sirius sit on the couch with Teddy tucked between them, reading over Harry’s letters as he answers all the questions Teddy can think of. Every so often, Sirius will have a question of his own, and Harry happily answers those too, now that his mentor’s paranoia isn’t an issue. 

Finally, they reach Teddy’s final question. “Are you gonna leave again?”

Harry wraps his arm around Teddy’s shoulder, tucks him close to his chest as he presses a kiss to his godson’s hair, which has turned jet black and even messier to match his. 

“No, baby,” Harry says, and Sirius grins as the old nickname slips out as easy as ever, “I’m staying.”

“Good,” Teddy says, as solemn as he can, leaning heavier against Harry. Then, quietly, “You should stay with us.”

“I think you have to ask your dad first,” Harry says, just as serious. 

When Harry looks his way, Sirius knows he’s looking back with wide eyes, still getting used to being called Teddy’s dad out loud, even though it’s been years. Harry tilts his head in question, and Sirius smiles, waves away his concern.

Then Teddy turns to him as well, already pouting, and he laughs. “You’re welcome to stay here, Harry. Of course you are.”

∞

And he does stay.

Not forever, of course, but until he finds a new flat, until he has everything settled, he turns down the expected offer from Ron and Hermione and the surprising one from Draco, and he stays with Teddy and Sirius instead.

Teddy pouts when it’s time for him to leave, but he’s appeased easily enough by Harry’s promise to come by for regular dinners and the occasional weekend.

And maybe he’s only imagining it, but unlike last time, he thinks Sirius doesn’t want him to leave either.

∞

Nearly a month later, Harry is staying over for the weekend—maybe longer if Sirius can convince him to stay. Last he checked, Teddy had convinced Harry to play a game that, apparently, consists of little more than Harry carrying his son from room to room at varying speeds. He’d told Harry he didn’t have to indulge the boy, but Harry had only grinned as Teddy leapt onto his back from where he stood on the table, telling him it was no trouble at all.

He’s just thinking of checking on them again when he hears Teddy shriek.

His heart in his throat, he sprints for the living room, skidding to a stop in the doorway at the sight that greets him.

All the furniture has been pushed to the edges of the room, and Harry is standing in the middle with Teddy hanging upside down from his back, his knees hooked over Harry’s shoulders. No one is hurt. In fact, both are flushed happily and grinning.

Hovering just above the floor, Sirius sees the glimmer of a cushioning charm that Harry must have cast.

“Again!” Teddy cheers.

He holds out his arms, and Harry laughs as he begins to twirl, keeping hold of Teddy’s legs as he spins faster and Teddy’s torso is lifted with the force of it, until he’s stretched out like a cape from Harry’s shoulders. As he spins, Teddy screams with laughter, giggling and out of breath. 

Then Harry slows to a stop, until Teddy is hanging flat against his back again. 

As his heartbeat slows back to normal, healthy levels, Sirius takes a moment to lean against the doorjamb, just watching. He was right, all those years ago; Harry is great with Teddy. Now that he’s reassured himself, he should go back to looking over the Black accounts, to the stack of letters from various acquaintances he needs to reply to, but instead he only stands there, taking in the sight of them, basking in the sound of their combined laughter.

He feels something bright bubble up in him, too big for his chest. 

He thinks he’d like to feel this way forever.

Teddy is the first to spot him. “Daddy look!” he shouts, kicking his legs as best he can with Harry holding them in place and stretching out his arms again. “I’m flying!”

Harry turns sharply on his heels, swinging Teddy into the air once more, and as Teddy collapses into a giggly mess at his back, Harry looks at him, and he _smiles_ and… Oh. 

Oh, _fuck_.

He’s in so much trouble.

For the most part, nothing changes.

Sure, he finds himself staring a little bit longer, a little bit more often, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice. If he does notice, he gives no signs that he feels uncomfortable with Sirius’ attention.

In fact, he only continues to weave himself deeper into their lives, until Sirius is certain that if Harry ever came to him again, telling him he was leaving, he doesn’t think he could take it.

And Harry deserves better, he knows. He deserves better than a man old enough to be his father, who would have been something like it if the universe had been just a little bit kinder. Hell, Lily and James, dead as they are, deserve better than to have him lusting over their son, who he swore to protect when he was just a baby, smaller than Teddy is now. But no matter how often he repeats this to himself, it doesn’t really help.

Case in point, when Harry offers to help Sirius prepare for Teddy’s birthday party, Sirius doesn’t even consider saying no.

Which is why they’re standing side by side in his small kitchen and Harry is attempting to teach Sirius a recipe he learned when he was still stuck with those Muggles of his.

“How _did_ you learn this, anyway?” Sirius asks as he watches Harry weigh the flour.

Harry sighs happily, pleased to see he’d measured correctly as he dumps it into the bowl. “My aunt used to make this for Dudley’s parties,” he explains. “She never trusted me to make it on my own, worried I’d try to ruin her Dudders’ big day, probably, but I learned it anyway.”

“It’s good then?” Sirius asks, skeptical as he looks over the ingredients. 

He’d told Harry they could just buy a cake, but Harry had scoffed at the suggestion and dragged him into the village for groceries instead. And Sirius, who has become increasingly more of a pushover when it comes to Harry, had let him.

“It is,” Harry says, looking proud of himself. “I never had it during the summer, but I convinced the elves to let me use the kitchen at Hogwarts once, and it was great.”

“Never?” Sirius asks.

Harry looks down, frowning, and Sirius realizes he’s stumbled across another sore point. They pop up every so often. Usually, he does his best to avoid them, because Harry does the same.

“I used to hate my birthday,” Sirius confesses. 

“Really?” Harry looks up at him, curious.

Harry is always eager to hear more about his childhood, he knows. Maybe it’s about time he told him some more.

“Oh yes,” he says with an exaggerated shudder. “Every year, my mother would force us into the stuffiest robes imaginable, and then she’d parade Regulus and I around the parlor for _hours_ , always going on about how much we’d grow the family fortune, how we’d make the family proud…” He sighs, shakes his head. “Of course, by the end her hopes were pinned on Regulus, having lost all faith in me entirely, but still. While it lasted...” 

“If she only knew,” Harry says, grinning. 

Sirius snorts, tries to imagine the fallout if his mother ever learned of Regulus’ final act. “Well, you met her portrait. Imagine that, but _worse.”_

Harry scrunches up his nose, and Sirius feels the absurd urge to touch it. 

And because he’s always been terrible with impulse control, he does just that. He sticks his hand in the spare flour and rubs it across Harry’s face. For a moment, Harry only stands there, blinking at him, flour streaked across his cheeks and clinging to his lashes. 

Then he strikes back. 

Before Sirius can even flinch, he feels an egg crack against his skull, just above his ear, and he wipes his hand through the mess with a disgusted grunt. 

Harry laughs at him, and Sirius bares his teeth in a grin, reaching for the flour again. He gets Harry in the face one more time before Harry tosses a whole handful his way, coating everything from his hair to his chest. As he steps back, barking out a laugh and reaching for an egg of his own to use as his next weapon, he slips on a pile of flour and with a shout, he’s going down, dragging Harry with him. 

He has only a moment to curse the fact that he chose to wear socks today before he’s flat on his back, Harry holding himself still above him and looking down at him with wide, surprised eyes. He almost says something stupid, something flirty that will absolutely give himself away.

Then he hears the sound of feet on the stairs and groans, thumping his head back against the floor. 

The sound of their fall must have woken Teddy from his nap.

He’ll never be able to live this one down, he knows. Teddy is sure to bring it up any time Sirius even _attempts_ to lecture him about not making a mess with his food.

For just a moment, Harry looks confused by his reaction, then they hear a squeal of glee from the doorway and Harry grunts in surprise when Teddy races toward them and leaps onto Harry’s back, crushing him flat against Sirius’ chest. 

Sirius wheezes at the added weight, and Teddy giggles as he usually does whenever he inadvertently causes his father pain, pressing his face into Harry’s neck. 

He loves them, Sirius realizes as he lies there, listening to the muffled sound of Teddy’s giggles and looking up at Harry smiling down at him. 

He loves them—he loves _Harry._ He wants this, he realizes, more than anything.

He wants this, and he thinks he’d do anything to keep it.

In the wake of this latest realization, it’s as if the universe is conspiring against him. Or, if not the universe, then _Teddy._

He acts innocent, of course, but Sirius knows his son. He knows what he’s like when he’s scheming. 

In fact, until now, he’d always felt a spark of pride to see that mischief manifest itself, because Remus was just as much of a little shit at Hogwarts as the rest of them, and it’s a pleasure to know that spirit has been passed down.

This time, however, _he’s_ the target.

It all comes to a head one day as he’s pushing an infuriatingly squeaky cart through the village market, trying to keep Teddy in sight while also paying attention to Harry’s lecture on healthy eating, which he assumes has been passed down from Hermione. Normally, he wouldn’t bother, but, well... It’s Harry. Which means he has to listen. 

He’s doing a good job of it too, he thinks.

At least, he was until Teddy caught sight of something down an aisle ahead of them and ran for it. With a sympathetic glance his way, Harry jogs after him, leaving Sirius to jerk the cart into submission and catch up, the wheel squeaking all the while. 

When he sees a woman who he vaguely recalls as being one of the teachers at Teddy’s primary school, a woman who just so happens to be chatting amicably with Teddy, with Harry watching on, he almost groans.

He came to this market for one thing, and it was _not_ conversation. 

“Oh, hello,” the woman greets him, smiling. Her smile falters when she actually looks at him, and he honestly can’t blame her. He imagines the look in his eyes might be just a bit crazed. “You must be…”

Teddy takes the opportunity to answer for him. Because of course he does. “These are my dads!” he says brightly.

Sirius almost chokes on his tongue. 

Harry, angel that he is, steps in. “I’m Harry, Teddy’s godfather,” he explains, and he sounds as if he wants to laugh. He gestures to Sirius. “ _Sirius_ is his dad.”

“Oh, well,” Teddy’s teacher smiles, as charmed by Harry as most people tend to be, “you might want to make sure Teddy understands the difference. I’m sure that could get confusing.”

Sirius sends a dark look toward his son, and Teddy smiles up at him, wiggling happily as he bounces in place. “He knows,” Sirius says.

The teacher looks nervously between them.

Harry snorts. “Don’t mind him,” he says, waving an absent hand his way. “He hasn’t had his coffee yet, and he’s convinced the world is out to get him.”

Finally, Teddy’s teacher, who Sirius is now determined not to learn the name of, relaxes, and Sirius engages his son in a staring contest as Harry wraps up the conversation and sends her on her way. 

“Children,” Harry says mildly, and Sirius, to his shame, is the first to look away. “Are we done?”

Sirius rolls his eyes and jerks the cart forward, biting back a curse when it squeaks again. He feels Harry’s magic brush along his ankle, and the wheels fall blessedly silent. 

But he doesn’t waste too much time feeling grateful. 

When he looks back, he sees Harry lean down to whisper something to Teddy, and his son giggles. When he raises a questioning eyebrow, Harry only smiles at him, and Sirius only just stops himself from smiling back. 

Grumbling about the unfairness of it all, he takes his now-silent cart and goes. 

Later that night, Sirius is about to join Harry in putting his son to bed when he hears them talking, voices quiet.

“Harry,” he hears Teddy say, as serious as he’s ever been, “why can’t you be my dad?”

Sirius holds his breath, tells himself he should go, or let them know he’s listening, but he can’t bring himself to interrupt.

“Sirius is your dad,” Harry says, and he sounds quite reasonable.

“So? Abby has two.” Sirius has met Abby’s two dads, and the rush of longing, the need to have that, too, nearly sends him to his knees. 

“And Abby is very lucky,” Harry says. Sirius imagines Harry is running his hand through Teddy’s hair, soothing him to lie back on his pillow. “But Abby’s dads are married. Sirius and I aren’t.”

Then Teddy asks a very good question. “Why not?” 

Sirius tells himself he knows why not. In fact, he even has a list. Right now, none of the reasons seem very good.

“Because people marry each other when they’re in love.”

“Are you in love with my dad?”

Sirius should leave now. He really should. But he doesn’t. And in the end, it doesn’t even matter, because whatever answer Harry gives is too quiet to hear. 

“But he missed you,” Teddy says in reply, and Sirius thinks he could cry. “He keeps your letters by his bed.”

He used to laugh at James, he remembers, for becoming such a weepy mess after Harry was born. This must be karma. 

“You can miss someone without wanting to marry them,” Harry says, voice soft.

Teddy grumbles, then says, sounding half-asleep, “That’s dumb."

Harry laughs, but all he says is: “Sleep, Teddy. It’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

And Teddy must listen, because that’s the last thing he hears. Which means if he doesn’t move right now, Harry will open the door and realize that Sirius heard everything. Well, almost everything.

He doesn’t move fast enough. 

When Harry opens the door, he sees Sirius standing there, and Sirius feels as if his heart might beat right out of his chest. But instead of yelling at him or even just glaring, Harry smiles, and he pats Sirius on the shoulder, and then he heads back downstairs. 

Sirius takes one long look at his son, asleep with his arms wrapped tight around his stuffed wolf, and follows. 

∞

“Are we going to talk about it?” Sirius asks. 

Harry accepts the mug full of wine that Sirius passes to him. He’d asked Sirius, once, why he didn’t have any wine glasses, but the man had only gotten that far away look in his eyes, the one that tells him there’s a story there he probably doesn’t want to hear, and he hasn’t asked again. 

“I don’t know.” Harry taps his fingernail against the rim of his mug. “Are we?”

“Harry…” Sirius looks conflicted, so Harry sighs, and he thinks the fondness must be clear on his face.

“Do you _want_ to talk about it?” he asks, because it’s an important question.

Sirius looks up to the ceiling.

He looks both older and younger than just after the war, Harry thinks. His once pale skin has taken on a healthy glow, and his hair, so limp before, is now full and slightly frizzy with how often he runs his hands through it. He’s filled out, too, no longer looking as if he could snap in half at the slightest touch. When he smiles, there’s none of that old sadness that always used to linger any time he spent too long looking Harry’s way. 

And then there’s Harry’s favorite change: with each year, there are new lines on his face, marks of all the times he’s smiled, all the times he’s laughed so hard he cried. 

As often as Sirius grumbles about them, Harry thinks he’ll only ever love them. He really has done an awful job of getting over Sirius, but he supposes he doesn’t mind.

“I do,” Sirius finally says, thoughtful. “I have for a while, I think.”

Harry reaches out across the table, grips Sirius’ forearm. When Sirius looks at him, Harry says, feeling giddy, “Me too.”

“I heard you and Teddy talking,” Sirius confesses. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Harry ducks his head, but he’s smiling. When he looks up again, Sirius looks worried. “It’s okay, Sirius.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Not at all.” 

Sirius nods. Then he sighs. “It’s taken me so long,” he says, wistful. He meets Harry’s eyes, and he looks almost regretful. “I didn’t want to feel… this.”

“I know,” Harry says again. “I’m not mad about that either.”

“No?”

Harry shakes his head. “I think this is better, actually.” He squeezes Sirius’ arm. “For Teddy, at the very least.”

The wistfulness fades, that unique mix of pride and love that’s reserved just for Teddy stealing over Sirius’ face. “You’re probably right.”

“I know I am.” 

Sirius snorts, and then a comfortable silence settles over them. When Sirius breaks it, he sounds almost hesitant. “Do you want to stay?” Sirius asks. A flush spreads across his cheeks when he catches Harry staring at him. “Here, I mean. For more than just tonight.”

Harry blinks back what might be tears, a trembling sort of joy expanding in his chest. He knows what he wants to say. But even more importantly, he knows what he _should_ say.

“Not yet.” He squeezes Sirius’ hand in his before he can say anything. “But I’ll visit more often, and we’ll go on dates. We’ll tell Teddy.” Sirius ducks his head, smiling, and Harry grips his hand even tighter. “We’ll see where this goes, and then…”

“And then?” Sirius asks, covering Harry’s hand with his own, stroking his wrist.

He leans forward across the table, presses his lips to Sirius’ cheek. Smiling at the way Sirius holds his breath, he says, “And then you should ask me again.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at writing this ship, so uhh... pls forgive the inconsistent characterization and messy prose. I may or may not come back and smooth it over later


End file.
